Filed to story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
“What do you have there, Sloane?”
My fingers curl tighter. “Nothing.”
! “You’re very cute when you lie. Hand it over.”
I hesitate. But there’s no winning against that look. So I extend my hand and let the keys fall into his open palm.
He doesn’t even glance at them. Just tosses them back into the center console like they don’t matter-like I didn’t just unlock a piece of his world I probably wasn’t supposed to see. All the while, his eyes stay on mine. Not blinking. Not smiling.
He starts the car, shifts into gear, and the engine hums to life again. We glide into motion. I keep my gaze on the side of his face, watching for a sign.
And then he speaks.
“Is there something you’d like to ask me?” he says, voice quiet. “And please don’t say nothing.”
I swallow. My heart’s suddenly in my throat.
“Why do you have a gun, Knox?”
The Real Business
I stare at Knox, impatiently awaiting an answer. My heart thuds too fast for how casual I’m trying to look.
He keeps his gaze ahead, fingers flexing once against the steering wheel before settling again.
“Because I’m certified to carry it,” he says.
I frown, not satisfied.
“Okay. But why do you have it in your car?”
“Where else should it be?”
“Hidden at home? You know. Somewhere people can’t just… see it?”
He finally turns his head to look at me, that unreadable expression back in place.
The one that makes me feel like he’s dissecting me, deciding whether I’m someone who deserves answers or just another person he’ll keep at arm’s length.
“You stole my keys to get into my glove box,” he says. “You think I let people sit in my car by themselves?”
I feel my cheeks heat, guilt pooling low in my gut.
Touch?, Knox.
I turn my head away, facing the window. Fine. I might have crossed a line. But he’s still the one walking around with a weapon like we’re in an action movie.
A part of me wants to yell at him, demand more, demand everything.
And another part-God, the worst part-wants to crawl onto his lap, tug his mouth down to mine, and kiss those secrets right out of him.
Take whatever scraps he’s willing to give.
I hate that about myself.
I hate how attraction and anger can live in me at the same time, how they aren’t mutually exclusive.
We drive in silence.
Knox doesn’t push. Doesn’t explain further.
I sit there, stewing.
Brewing.
We pull into the driveway of my office building, and before I can gather my wits, he’s already shifting into park, turning to look at me.
His fingers reach out, slow and sure, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
Not hard.
Not demanding.
Just enough to tilt my face toward his.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, Bunny,” he says, leaning in to press a soft, maddeningly tender kiss to my mouth.
The same mouth still frozen mid-scowl.
I barely have time to react before he pulls away, the ghost of his touch still burning on my lips.
“Seriously? You’re eventually going to start telling me things, you know.”
He grins-that lazy, dangerous, heart-wrecking grin-and says, “You’re beautiful. That’s something.”
I flip him off without a second of hesitation, slamming the door behind me as I climb out.
His laugh follows me, a low sound that curls around my spine and refuses to let go.
I march toward the glass doors of the office building, trying to convince myself I’m still angry.
And I am.
But when I glance back over my shoulder-just once he’s still there
Watching me.
Successfully unlocked!
Like he always does.
I give a little sway of my hips as I walk, letting him watch.
The Real Business
***
~~KNOX~~
***
I stay there for a while.
Just sitting.
Watching Sloane disappear through the glass doors, her short hair catching the afternoon light, her steps brisk and determined.
Only when I’m sure she’s safely inside do I peel away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other pulling out my phone.
The second it unlocks, I press the speed dial.
“Aaron,” I say the moment the line connects, not bothering with greetings or small talk. “I’m going to send you an address.”
“Yes, sir,” Aaron answers, crisp and alert.
“Send a crew there. I want the locks changed. Something high-grade, digital. And while you’re at it, do a full sweep of the place.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then:
“What day, sir?”
“Right now. Preferably before she gets back from her day job.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and fire off a text with Sloane’s address, my fingers moving fast across the screen as I weave through traffic.